A Knight at the de Young

"Of course, it doesn't take a superhero to be a knight," the 'real' Knightblade says, breaking in on the recording, glancing down at his audience. "Each one of you can be a knight as long as you live your life truthfully, with compassion and honor." The eight children around Knightblade let out a collective sigh of relief -- or satisfaction -- it's hard to tell. The six boys and two girls all live at St. Vincent's Orphanage and tonight they are getting the chance to tour the museum's new armor exhibit -- "Knight's Gambit" -- courtesy of Knightblade and assistant museum curator Cassandra Salvatore. The exhibit features arms and armor ranging from a Crusader's pot helm to modern times infantry equipment. The exhibit also contains a section of pictures and interactive video/audio devoted to Knightblade.

Like all children on a museum tour they are demonstrating classic museum behavior. Two are poking each other. One girl is blowing bubbles with her gum (quietly sticking it under a railing) while the other stares off into space. One boy is fascinated with his shoes. The rest appear to be listening to Knightblade.

"Are there any questions?" asks Knightblade, dressed in full, polished armor for the opening of the exhibit.

"Yeah," says disheveled 12-year-old Nash. "Can you really cut a guy in half with your force sword? Y' know -- like chop suey." This statement is accompanied by a violent hand gesture.

Great, Charles Manson, Jr., Knightblade thinks. There's always one in every group.

"Yes, Nash, I could," Knightblade says, his voice remaining calm. "But I wouldn't. A true knight doesn't resort to violence. He tries to use his brains and his heart to find a solution. Now let's move on to the next exhibit."

The children scamper out in front of Knightblade like puppies eager to get into the dog food. Nash can be heard saying, "Neat -- look at this mace. I bet you could clobber a really BIG guy with this...."

"Uh, Mr. Knightblade," a small voice says, from about four feet below Knightblade's visor.

Looking down, Knightblade sees an eight-year-old boy, with brown hair and eyes. He's small for his age and has a look of sadness about him - like a dog whose been kicked too many times but doesn't know how to cower.

"Do you think I could be a knight, too?" the boy asks, his bottom lip trembling.

Getting down on one knee Knightblade looks into the boy's eyes and says, "Son, I think you can be whatever you want to be. All you have to do is try."

"Good," the little boy known as Peter, says. "Then I'm going to be an astronaut, because they get to go up in space and find cool rocks and meteorites and stuff. Did you ever want to be an astronaut, Mr. Knightblade?"

"Oh, I may have thought about it," Knightblade says as he and Peter hurry to catch up with the others.

"Obviously no one told Mr. Knightblade anything about historical knighthood," Peter Davidson whispers to Cassandra Salvatore in an adjacent antechamber as the two assistant curators watch the group move on. "Or does everyone believe in Hollywood history?"

"Hush, Peter. You're missing the point," she scolds. "They're enjoying themselves. I'm glad Knightblade insisted on them coming." Even if the official guests are already arriving, she silently thought. I hope Ponté doesn't show up while there the kids from the orphanage are still here. Although the thought of the stiff board member besieged by eight orphans from St. Vincent's was an amusing one.

"They're getting their grimy fingers all over the glass. I sent your new secretary out for more Windex." Peter adds. "He actually seems to be enjoying his job. Think this one will work out?"

"Now Peter, since when have any of my secretaries not worked out?" Cassandra says, with a slightly mischievous smile. "Fate has simply intervened. One heard the call of God. Another decided the Marine Corps would be less stressful. And, well Monica, Monica just couldn't get over her crush on you."

"My only king is my conscience. Unfortunately, that can sometimes be the harshest ruler of them all. I have had cases where doing the right thing meant personal sacrifices. But I've discovered that I can live with that a lot easier than the consequences of doing the wrong thing,"

The echo of Knightblade's recorded voice reaches Cassandra Salvatore, also known as Odyssey, as she makes a final check of each exhibit hall. Peter Davidson did a wonderful job with this exhibit, she thinks as she does the once-over. Of course, it helps that he has a master's in military history.

In room 11, Cassandra's routine is broken by a child's sobs. Searching through the shadows, she looks for a sign of where it is coming from. The children were not supposed to be in this area of the museum, she thinks. Then suddenly, Cassandra spots where the noise is coming from. A girl -- maybe 9-years-old, if that -- is sitting under a table and weeping.

"Hello," Cassie says peeking under the table. "Mind if I join you?"

The girl shakes her head and sniffles. Cassie takes that as a sign of consent and crawls under the table into the girl's makeshift shelter.

"Well, it certainly is nice and cozy in here," Cassie says. "Didn't you like the exhibit?"

"It's OK," the child says.

"Oh, well, I just thought maybe you were here under this table because you didn't like it," Cassie says.

"It's really boy stuff!" The young girl blurts out.

"Well, did you know one of the greatest warriors ever was Joan of Arc and she was a woman?" Cassie says.

"Really?" the girl replies her eyes widening in astonishment.

"Yes, and she lead a great army in France and helped put the rightful king on the throne," Cassie adds.

"Do you think she ever got her hair pulled by the boys?" the young girl asks.

"Oh, I'm sure she did," Cassie says, carefully omitting the end of the saint's history. "Do you know why they do it?"

"No, why?"

"Because they like you and they don't know how to tell you," Cassie says, with a smile. "You'll see."

"I guess," she says. "I don't like boys. They're mean and they smell funny."

"Aren't there any boys that you like?" Cassie asks.

"Well, there's Peter, but they pick on him too," the little girl says.

"Well, I think Peter's a good friend if he sticks by you. If you stick together, I betcha it will be harder for the other kids to pick on you."

"You think so?" she asks.

"I know so," Cassie replies. "Now, why don't we go catch up with the others. There's cake and punch out there."

Cassie crawls out from under the table followed shortly by the young girl.

"My name is Amara," the girl says.

"I'm Cassie."

"You are very pretty, Mrs. Cassie. I really like your hair."

"Well, thank you Amara, but I'll tell you a secret, I always wanted red hair like yours....."

The children are munching down on the cake and ice cream like they haven't seen sugar in years. Cassie notices that Amara and Peter are sitting together. It looks like Amara is telling Peter about how Joan of Arc saved France.

Cassie spies a man introducing himself to Peter. Who could that be? she wonders. But before she can walk over the children catch her attention again. "No, Nash, you can't pour your soda over your cake and ice cream and make a milkshake....."

"They owed the De Young a favor. And thank you, Albert, Mary," the curator beams at the industry magnate and his wife. "But what brings you to San Francisco? I sent the invitation, but I never thought you'd find the time. I thought Hudson City had its shackles around you, Albert. Or didn't you get reelected to the city council?"

Mary Hudson laughs. "Of course he was reelected. But we're here because Erica tested into a Stanford program, and we wanted to stay until she gets settled in. Oh, good. I want you to meet David and Monica. David is a good friend of Albert's -- perhaps you heard of his great claim to fame?"

Davidson smiles as he shakes David White's hand. The Hudsons' friend is a handsome, tall man with dark curly hair. "Yes, you're the PRIMUS agent who struck it rich, aren't you? Won the New York Lottery?" Peter says.

"Yes, these great looks and money, too," White says with a grin. "And this lovely young lady is Monica Hailley." He accents the word "young" as he smiles at the woman, a very beautiful redhead wearing a very short dress.

"Yes, I have the best of all worlds," White says lightly touching Monica's hand. After pausing for a moment he reaches out with his right and an firmly grasp Mr. Davidson's in a friendly handshake. "You have quite a museum here, Mr. Davidson. I was particularly impressed with the Asian Art. So, how do I go about becoming a member?"

"Albert, how long has it been? I was beginning to really wonder when you would surface again. I know you are such a social hermit," White says with a smile. "Mary, you are going to have to keep an eye on your husband. He does have some of those Howard Hughes tendencies, you know."

"Sorry David, you know how I can get wrapped up in my work," chuckles Albert. "You seem to be dealing with your free time well enough." Albert scans the crowd of people passing, smiling and greeting thoes he recognizes.

"Yes, you know how hard I work nowadays," David says leering at Monica.

"So how are you liking the new department?" Helena continues. The two women had been hired by the University of California, San Francisco, to head a new department at the medical school -- the first department of paranormal medicine in the world.

Before Lisa can answer, one of the most famous -- and powerful -- faces in San Francisco appears behind Helena, grinning like a fool. "Helena!" Silver Avenger Maria Chow exclaims. "You look beautiful! I haven't seen you in ages." The Silver Avenger is wearing a short metallic silver dress, and her black, curly hair is piled on top of her head. Silver Avenger Chow is known for her liberal stance on paranormal issues. The women hug, and Lisa notices the man standing behind Maria Chow. He's tall, with black hair, just touched with gray on the sides. His tuxedo is exquisitely cut, and he is looking over the crowd with polite disinterest. Jack Harrison, she realizes, recognizing him from the papers' society pages. A wealthy investor, Harrison is considered one of the area's most eligible bachelors, and a playboy to boot. No surprise to find him here with the Silver Avenger, then, for her list of dates was a veritable Who's Who of California society.

Jack, after struggling to clean up from a recent street investigation, looked both calm and rested. The tuxedo he is wearing is of the finest material. He is holding a champagne glass absently and is listening intently to Maria.

"I'd like for you to meet Dr. Lisa Gardner," Helena is saying to Maria. "I suppose you heard that MRC laid off almost the entire medical division?" she waits as the Silver Avenger nods sympathetically. "Lisa and I have been recruited to head the new paranormal medicine department at SF."

"I'm thrilled to meet you, then," Maria says. "I'd heard from Frank -- he's our medical chief of staff here at PRIMUS SF -- that the university was going to be starting the program, and he was just ecstatic that it was happening here. He's gotten adjunct status, and I believe he'll be teaching a class in coping with paranormal emergencies?"

"Yes, I spoke with him about it just yesterday," Lisa answers. "He was looking forward to it." Glad I'm not teaching that one. It would be hard to be detached with all the emergencies I've seen in both identies.

"Oh, my," Helena says, seeing something across the room. "Would you please excuse me?" Without looking back, the petite British physician begins winding her way through the crowd.

"Where are my manners?" exclaims Maria. "Please let me introduce you to Jack Harrison."

"Pleased to meet you, Dr. Gardner," he says in a deep voice. "I imagine the field of paranormal medicine to be quite interesting. Has your department been given adequate funding for this?" Without waiting for an answer, he turns to a slight Chinese woman, standing behind him. "Darlene, please speak with Dr. Gardner about Harrison Foundation Grants." Turning back to the ladies, he says, "I believe I see Albert Hudson in the crowd. Please excuse me, ladies." Pausing to kiss Maria on the cheek, he moves off, leaving Lisa Gardner standing with the Silver Avenger and Harrison's assistant Darlene.

He whispers in Maria's ear as he brushes her cheek with his lips, "I'll be seeing you later this evening I hope?" He pauses for a moment and looks directly into her eyes, and she smiles at him. A slight grin crosses his face as he turns to find Albert Hudson.

Oh, great, just what I needed... Four feet away from a Silver Avenger in my Secret ID. Stay cool, Lisa, I don't look that much like Starlight. If PRIMUS knew who I was, I doubt they would send a Silver after me. Just stay cool and be professional.

Professor Gardner pushes her glasses back up and she seems to have her crooked back but it is hidden in a business jacket with large shoulder pads. Her business suit reveals Lisa's low to moderate income class. "Yes, I would like to know more about the funding. My research is indeed expensive, but it is the cost of being on the leading edge of paranormal research." Lisa, then turns to Maria, "For example, Cyberline is an expensive and experimental project that has..." She reaches for the right words, "some remarkable results. Tell me, do you have any side effects from your treatments? High blood pressure, dizziness, low blood sugar? The article I read was very sketchy on this point, in fact it was quite terse." Lisa examines Maria's body closely, almost like she was studying a laboratory animal.

The Silver Avenger throws her head back and laughs. "Nope, healthy as a horse," she says. "But you’re welcome to look at my teeth if you’d like. In fact, it’s my understanding that sterility is no longer a problem – Silver Avenger Hawkins’ wife just announced that she was pregnant, thanks to some developments at Hudson Research, Inc. Actually, Albert Hudson is here, if you'd like to speak to him. He directed the research himself."

Professor Gardner blinks her eyes from the horse comment, "Oh. Forgive me, I perfer to study patients rather than raw data and I spend much too much time in the lab. I was just wondering about how the metabolism remains stable along the power curve..." Gardner's voice trails off as she walks off towards Albert Hudson.

Jack winds his way through the crowd, making his way toward the Hudson City industrialist. He pauses for a moment, there appears to be some sort of pattern to the way several of the celebrants are moving about the room. It could be they are just been thorough in their introductions, but it did bear watching.

He walks directly up to Albert Hudson and says, "Mr. Hudson, I'm Jack Harrison. I have heard some very good things about you and your company."

"Thank you, Mr. Harrison," Hudson says with a warm smile. "Your reputation also proceedes you. There have been some unfortunate occurances in Hudson City as of late. I don't suppose you are contemplating branching out to other exotic locations?"

"Exotic locations? Do you mean Hudson City?" Jack says to Albert. "Actually, all my work locations are exotic. You should come up to my office some time. I don't believe we have met," Jack say extending his hand to David White.

"Isn't that Avenger Chow that you came in with?" Hudson asks with a grin. "I must say, after dealing with Avenger Hawkins at a few PR events and seeing them all at his wedding, I was almost afraid to encounter them socially again, but Ms. Chow does make a striking enterance."

"She certainly does," Jack says. "She is the only Avenger that I know who looks good in a dress."

"Fruit juice, please," he says with a sigh, looking over his shoulder at the assembled crowd.

"Fruit juice?" says a woman's voice over his other shoulder. "Jesus, Shawn, it’s a party - and the propaganda boys aren't watching you any more, you know." He smiles broadly as he turns all the way around to face her.

"Mary!" he says, standing to embrace the seventy-two year old woman standing behind him. The two hug briefly and then step back to look at each other. She is trim and silver-haired. "I didn't know you would be here!"

"I'm more likely to be here than you are. Have you forgotten I'm mayor of San Ramon now?"

Shawn feigns smacking himself in the head, "Of course. But sorry, Mary, I just have a hard time getting used to the fact that you're grown up now. I mean, it seems like yesterday you were an overeager little girl on the doorstep of Liberty Hall!"

She grins, "Well, it isn't often I get told that! I'll take it as a compliment. It certainly doesn't seem like yesterday to me. These old bones don't carry me as well as they used to. Course, I've still got it up here," she taps her finger against the side of her head. Most people would take it to mean intelligence, but Shawn understands she is referring to the ego powers she wielded as Lady Liberty in the Forces of Liberty, and later as the leader of another superhero group in the 1960s. "Speaking of minds, you know I wish you could have been around for HUAC. We really could have used your lawyer brain."

"Sounds like it was a fun time," he says sarcastically, "Sorry I had to miss it." he picks up the glass of fruit juice off the bar and the two of them moved off together, talking.

"Well, it’s good to have you back here. It’s good to know you aren't dead! I hadn't spoken to Lawrence Greene for years until he called me about you showing up on his doorstep. Nearly gave him a heart attack, he said."

"Well, you know how I like to make an entrance," he smiles.

"Well maybe without the big 'P' stealing the thunder, you'll get a chance." Shawn nods, recalling how the Phantom used to upstage all of them with his parlor tricks and flashy monologues. "From what I've read," she continues, "you seem to be doing all right so far."

"Thanks."

"And Shawn, I..." she pauses uncomfortably, "I wanted to find out how you were doing, about Bobbi."

Shawn takes a deep breath, trying to shore up his voice before answering. Then he clears his rapidly constricting throat in a short cough. He remembers the other night's conversation with his sister about the war, Roberta, everything. Carol had gone home about ten, but he hadn't been able to get Roberta back out of his head. He had looked through the photos and clippings again, savoring her face - the determined smile she always wore. He ran the newsreel footage and watched it on the screen in his den while he drank scotch and cried. "I'm fine, Mary. Thanks for asking."

"Hi, Shawn," says Carol as she walks up.

"Carol," he says, turning to let the two women face each other. "this is Mary Colt. I told you about her the other night. Mary, this is my sister, Carol."

"I feel like I already know you," says Carol, taking the older woman's hand. "Shawn talked so much about you."

"She knows," Shawn says in response to Mary's questioning glance.

"Well, dear. Keep this one out of trouble. He has a good nose for it, and fewer friends to help him out of it these days. Though I think that last bit is probably true for all of us. If you'll excuse me, I need to catch Willie while I can. He's been ducking me over a few things and I'm going to get an answer out of him tonight if I have to choke it out."

"It was nice to meet you, Mayor Colt."

"Likewise, Carol. You should get by my office sometime. I'm sure I could tell you some good stories your brother wouldn't want you to hear," and with a smile she moves off to corner the Mayor of San Francisco.

"Having a good time?" Carol asks.

"Yes, actually," he replies.

"Well keep it up. You look great in a tux. I don't know how you're going to get out of here alone." She pecks him on the cheek and mingles away.

Shawn looks around at the displays. He had listened to a few of the recordings Knightblade had worked on. Very educational stuff. He thinks again about what he learned the other day, and wonders what he should do about it. He decides not to press it for now. It’s not his deal anyway.

"Ah, Morgana," Derek says, leering at the heroine, part of a green appetizer stuck between his front teeth. "I was just thinking about you!"

I just bet you were, she thinks. Where is George when I need him? Looking around, her heart falls as she notices the reporter all the way across Hearst Court, talking to Mayor Willie Brown. As Morgana's mood darkens, the air around her grows slightly chill. Fernley, however, does not notice.

"Oh!" a handsome brown-haired woman says as she spills a full flute of champagne on the station manager's ruffled shirt. "My goodness! I am so clumsy," she apologizes, but winks at Morgana.

Morgana conceals a smile and with it a slight breeze snuffs out the chill and swirls gently through the room.

"It's OK," Fernley mumbles. "Excuse me," he says, leaving.

The woman looks up at Morgana and grins. "Hi, I'm Carol Crawford," she says, holding out her hand. "I think we met briefly at the Hendersons’ part a few months ago, but I never did get a chance to talk to you."

Morgana remembers the woman -- Carol was introduced as the employee of an important analysis firm, and had been absorbed in a discussion with Mayor Brown. "A pleasure to see you again Carol. You have brightened up my evening," says Morgana with a smile.

"I have to say, Ms. Windrifter," Carol Crawford remarks, regarding Morgana intently, "That I found your column in the Examiner last week very interesting. To most people, the Paranormal Registration Bill died with Senator Relm last year. Do you really think the conservatives will try to resurrect it, even if Clinton is reelected?"

"Why, yes, I do. I think that the PRB has more support than most people recognize. For example, in a poll taken last week in across the midwest . . ."

Carol is looking better, Shawn reflects as he watches his sister ardently discussing paranormal issues with Morgana Windrifter. The kidnapping had rattled her more than she'd let on, thought they'd had a great opportunity to talk about his new life -- and his old one -- since the Kidman stake out. She had laughed delightedly when he'd seriously revealed his hero identity, much to his surprise. "I knew it," she'd crowed. "I knew something was up when you started using all the silly exclamations: 'Great Caesar's Ghost!' and 'Holy Moley!'"

It had been a busy week, though, and tonight's reception at the De Young was an (almost) welcome distraction, though the last time Carol had dragged him from his house on Russian Hill in a tuxedo, it had been the disastrous performance of "The Phantom of the Opera."

Surveying the crowd, Shawn's eyes fall on a beautiful woman in a low-backed red dress. She's laughing as the man standing next to her drops a California roll, and curly blond hair tumbles around her shoulders as she throws her head back. As she turns, his heart stops for a moment. Dear God, that looks just like Elaine, he thinks. They'd been in the same class at the FBI Academy, and when he'd heard about her death in 1995 -- she'd been killed in an auto accident near Washington, D.C. -- it had hit him hard. I haven't thought of her in years, Shawn thinks. Her gray eyes find his across the crowd, and widen as they fix on Shawn. Immediately she turns, says something to her companion, and begins moving away. Shawn begins moving through the crowd towards her.

"Excuse me, um, excuse me," Shawn shoulders his way through the crowd as best he can without being too forceful. A waiter walks by and he takes the chance to drop his glass of fruit juice on the tray before continuing forward.

Now, for the good stuff, he thinks. And then he slowly, methodically starts stuffing food into the bag.

"Yes, it did the job," Knightblade responds. "Say, where is Tony?"

"He couldn't make it tonight; he's working on the new FIB building."

Walking into the Hearst Court, Cassandra and Knightblade see a scene straight out of a James Bond movie. Tuxedo clad men are mixing with women in slinky evening gowns. S.F. Mayor Willie Brown is making the political circuit around the room, shaking hands. The wealthy and the powerful are united in one room demonstrating a classic feature of capitalism - it's not who you are, but who you know. Champagne is flowing freely and already some of the guest have imbibed way too much.

"There's enough money in this room to buy a small country," Knightblade observes.

"Try several medium sized countries or Russia at the rate they're going," Cassandra says. "Look, there's Ben Berkeley. Can you believe he married Anna Nicole Smith? My God, I think she's going to bust out of that dress, I'd better alert the paramedics -- we have fashion suicide going on here."

Knightblade doesn't answer for a moment. When he speaks, it sounds distracted. "What is Albert Hudson doing here?" he wonders aloud, and Cassie's glance follows the armored figure. Curator Peter Davidson is laughing at a joke, standing with Albert Hudson and his wife Mary and an attractive couple she doesn't recognize. Jack Harrison approaches the magnate as Cassie watches, and the two men shake hands.

Knightblade recognizes Hudson as the President and CEO of Hudson Industries, the corporation which had been given the contract to build the new PRIMUS weaponry, and to whom they'd also given the Coil Gene to examine. He'd met Hudson and his wife at Hudson City Silver Avenger Stephen Hawkins' wedding in March -- the Hudsons are close friends of Christine Hawkins. The tall redhead with David White was Christine's youngest sister, Monica, who'd also been at the wedding.

"Mary Hudson's charity gives a lot of money to the museum, though she doesn't get out to the West Coast very often." Cassie explains. "She's Peter's cousin."

"And to think, you could be practicing martial arts right now instead of soaking up all this atmosphere," Burton says.

Matt really didn't want to attend the opening and he was feeling mighty underdressed for this event as a voluptuous blonde woman in red velvet dress and a pearl choker squeezed by him. But Mark was a friend and he promised to let Matt into the Asian Art Museum wing later tonight.

"I wish you had told me this was a formal affair," Matt replied softly. His black suit and bow tie were of excellent quality, but they didn't quite measure up to the tuxedoes that most of the men wore.

"Look!" Mark gasps, slapping Matt hard in the chest.

"What?" Matt replies, expecting nothing less than ninjas jumping down from the ceiling at Mark's outburst.

"It's her!" Mark exclaims.

"Her" could only mean one thing. Mark's Juliet, his Roxanne, the girl he worshipped and could not get through a single conversation without mentioning the beauty of her eyes, hair or face. Now, if he could only mentioning his worship to the actual girl. But unfortunately Mark was a different person around this girl. A person who couldn't speak a straight sentence.

"Sarah, Sarah Connery?" Matt asks. Could it be anyone else? he thinks, looking at his friend's ecstatic face.

"Yes!" Mark practically shouts. "Her dad must have brought her."

Looking over, Matt sees a pretty, petite redhead wearing an emerald green silk dress. Pretty, Matt thinks, but looking at his friend, Matt realizes that to Mark Burton, the most beautiful woman in the world had entered the room and her light outshone everyone else.

"Why don't you go over to her?" Matt suggests. "She looks like she's alone."

"Oh, I couldn't, I really couldn't," Mark says, stumbling over his words.

"Mark," a woman's voice says behind them.

Mark and Matt turn to see a stunning woman standing behind them. Long, deep black hair frames a face with green eyes and then cascades down the back of woman who stands at about 5' 9". She is wearing a white, figure hugging dress that fastens at one shoulder. If a statue of a Greek goddess could come to life, she would look like this.

As Cassie is about to speak, she sees Shawn push past behind Mark and Matt. His attention is focused ahead and he doesn't even see her. Shawn finally reaches the other side of the room, but when he emerges from the crowd she is gone. But the man she had been talking to is still there, "Excuse me," he says in a serious tone, "which way did the woman you were talking to go? The blonde in the red dress."

"I think she went out that way," the man says offhandedly as Shawn turns and hurries through an archway into another area of the museum. Just past the opening a red rope hangs across the corridor, but it doesn't slow him down much. The corridor is dimly lit by the lights from the display cases, but the overhead lights are out, presumably to deter partygoers from coming this way.

"Oh, hi, Cassandra," Mark says. "Matt, let me introduce you to my new boss, Cassandra Salvatore, Matthew Chu-Wun."

Matt winces slightly at the more familiar version of his name. A slight effort returns his face to the serene smile he usually wears. Matt turns towards Cassandra and bows slightly from the waist.

Cassandra sees a Chinese man in his late-twenties or early thirties standing about two inches shorter than herself. Somewhat underdressed for the evening in a dark suit, his hair is bound into a ponytail that reaches below his shoulders. Although Matt is good-looking, what really draws Cassandra's attention is the way he moves. Every motion, every gesture is made with an unconscious and fluid grace. Add to this the confidence with which he moves and bears himself, and the image of a hunting cat springs unbidden to her mind's eye.

"Pleased to met you, Matthew," Cassandra says. "Are you enjoying the party?"

Before Matt can answer, a nondescript man in a tuxedo and horn-rimmed glasses walks up with none other than the armored superhero Knightblade. Dressed in silver armor, Knightblade looks like a high-tech, walking version of the 15th century Austrian suit of armor Matt passed in the hallway.

"That's Knightblade, isn't it?" Matt whispers to Mark as the armored hero approaches.

"Him? Oh, yeah... he's been here a couple times before, or so I've heard." Mark Burton is scarcely ruffled by the presence of a superhero, yet he goes completely to pieces over Sarah. A fascinating combination to Matt.

Knightblade, thinks Matt, how do I get to talk to him alone? My costume's out in the car, and changing will be a problem. Wait a minute... Matt pats his pockets surreptitiously. Where are my keys? Great! This always happens...

"We're ready to do the introductions, Cassandra, can you please join us on the steps?" Peter Davidson, senior assistant museum curator, says.

"Sure, Peter," she replies.

Before she can move a voice booms out across the party, silencing even the Renaissance choral group in the corner.

"Dulcinea, where is my Dulcinea?" A man yells, striding down the steps and into the Hearst Court.

Clad in make-shift armor, a battered lance in his hand and a bucket serving as a helm, the man looks foolish as can be. This is only accentuated by the fact that the man is only 5' 4" tall and very rotund. Next to him, dressed in the garments of a servant is a man more suited to be outfitted in armor. At 6' 2" with a brawny build and classic Italian looks, the man serves to only make his companion look more foolish.

"And you thought _you_ were underdressed?" Mark whispers to Matt.

"Don Quixote," the brawny servant says. "I see her there standing next to the other knight."

"Ah, thank you, Sancho," The foolish looking knight says. "As ever, you point the way."

'Don Quixote' then stumbles down the stairs, bumping several overdressed matrons and muttering apologizes all the way down. "So sorry, madam, my fault entirely. Here let me help you up."

He is followed by 'Sancho.' As they stroll across the court, the party goers part like a wave and Matt, Mark, Cassandra, Peter and Knightblade realize that the men are heading toward them.

"Oh, my God," Cassandra says, and Matt and Mark realize that she is desperately trying to hold in her laughter.

"Dear Lord, Cassie. What is your husband doing?" Peter asks her. "And who is that little man with him? Is he aware of who is here tonight?" Peter had been wanting this exhibit for so long -- was something going to ruin it now?

"I have no idea what he is up to, but the man with him is my Uncle Alex," Cassie says swallowing a smile and trying to look serious as the two men reach their little group.

"Ah, my fair Dulcinea, the most beautiful woman in the world," 'Don Quixote' says, bending down on one knee. "It would be an honor to serve one as fair as you. Give her the rose you fool," Quixote loudly whispers to Sancho.

Stepping forward, Sancho presents Cassie with a single white rose.

"Don't mind the old man, miss, he's slightly mad," Sancho says. "And so is his servant," Cassie whispers to Sancho/Tony. "I hope you know what you're doing."

"I had to top the David incident," Sancho/Tony whispers back.

"Mad, you dare call your better 'MAD'?" Quixote says, rising to his feet and prodding Sancho with his lance. "I don't know why I consented to take you on this quest."

Turning back toward the little group, Quixote/Alex turns to Knightblade. "Is this your lady fair, sir knight? If so, I would fight you for the honor of her hand."

Sancho leans over to Knightblade, who has recognized Tony - Cassie's husband. "Just play along," he whispers and winks at Knightblade. Then loud enough for everyone to hear. "I tell you the man is mad. He believes himself to be a knight. Him, a tired old man, a knight!"

"TIRED! OLD! I'll have you know, I have bested men twice your size," Alex/Quixote says, getting up from his knees. "Watch what you say, Sancho. Courtesy is the hallmark of a knight."

Leaning towards Cassandra, Alex/Quixote whispers, "Wonderful party my dear. You didn't mention that Albert Hudson and Ben Berkley were going to be here."

"That's what this is about, you're still upset about losing the catering job?" Cassandra whispers back.

"My dear, you went with a Frenchman. Haven't I taught you anything? Your guest will be feeling the effects of too much goose liver paté soon. But really this was Tony's idea, I just expanded on it."

"Why do I doubt that?" Cassandra asks.

"I have composed a song to my Dulcinea, one that truly will sing her praises," Alex/Quixote says to the crowd.

"Oh God, he's going to sing. Somebody do something," Cassandra says, looking pleadingly at Tony/Sancho.

"Wait, Don Quixote!" Knightblade calls out, stopping Alex just before he begins to sing. The crowd gives a collective sigh of relief, and Knightblade continues, "You can not sing her praises while she is my lady fair. You must fight me for her honor first."

Alex/Quixote turns back to Knightblade and says, "But, of course, Sir Knight. How do you wish to duel."

"Once again, you must wait, Don Quixote," Knightblade says, "For if you win, you gain this lady's honor. You must be willing to put up something of equal value in case I should win."

Alex/Quixote puts his hand to his chin appearing to think carefully and says, "I will put up my land in Valencia."

Knightblade shakes his head and says, "No. Equal value."

Alex ponders again for a moment and says, "Then my estate in La Mancha."

And again, Knightblade shakes his head and says, "No. Equal value."

Alex/Quixote turns to Tony/Sancho, and they begin a hushed but heated conversation. Finally, Tony comes out of the huddle and clutching a bill of some kind, says to Knightblade, "I got five bucks."

"Five dollars for this lady's honor!" Knightblade exclaims. He gazes over at Cassie apparently shocked and then looks her up and down appraisingly. Plucking the bill out of Tony's hand, he says, "Sounds like a deal to me. Sing on, oh, Pavarotti of paladins."

The small crowd which had gathered around the group erupts in laughter.

A shocked expression crosses Cassandra's face, which turns a rather bright shade of red, and something very, very dangerous flashes in her eyes.

"I think not," Cassandra says. "Honor, whether a lady's or a gentleman's, is not something that can bought or sold like an ill-fitted shirt. It is earned through trust and respect, action and words. Not purchased for the cost of a piece of pie." "By attempting to 'buy' my honor, you have revealed yourself as an impostor," Cassandra says to Alex/Quixote. "No true knight would accept such an offer." "Well, actually, Cassandra, during the Hundred Years’ War German mercenary knights......" Peter Davidson says, trailing off when Cassandra shoots him a withering stare. "Yes, well, ahem..." "Since you are an impostor, I suggest you and your servant," she pauses to look pointedly at Tony, "exercise the better part of valor -- discretion -- and leave. I will escort you out to make sure you don't lose your way."

With that, Cassandra Salvatore, exercising a great deal of constraint to not bop any of the men involved in this charade on the head -- turns and marches out toward the closed exhibits and museum offices. Alex/Quixote and Tony/Sancho both shrug their shoulders and follow. "I don't think I would want to be in Tony's shoes right now," Peter Davidson observes.

"I agree," comments Matthew, "Getting her angry strikes me as a particularly unwise move." He cocks an eye at Mark Burton. "Which one was Tony?"

"Tony was the big guy; he's her husband." Mark shakes his head. He's come to know Cassie's temperament fairly well in the past few days, and he definitely doesn't envy the "knight" and his "squire."

Matthew winces slightly in sympathy. "Ouch." His attention shifts from the departing duo to touch on Peter and Knightblade. "I don't believe we've met." He extends a hand. "My name is Matthew Chu-Wun, I'm a friend of Mark's."

Knightblade shakes his hand firmly. "It's a pleasure." Unlike most of the other people at this event, his voice sounds truly sincere. "If you will excuse me for one second, I'm going to try to diffuse this situation somewhat." Knightblade turns and addresses the assembled group, "Would everyone please give a hand to our actors portraying Sancho and Don Quixote. And a very special round of applause for Cassandra Salvatore, who has once again shown that the most priceless work of art in the De Young... is its assistant curator." After the applause dies down, he turns back to Matthew, Mark, and Peter. "Well, Mr. Davidson, it certainly never is boring working with Ms. Salvatore." Even through the armor, his amusement at the evening’s 'entertainment' is obvious. "By the way, I've been meaning to tell you. Your work on this exhibit has been amazing. I'm proud to have played a part in it. And thank you again for letting me show the children through."

Turning to face Matthew, he says, "So, you're a friend of Cassie's new secretary, Mark." Knightblade's voice becomes serious but with a hint of humor, "Be there for him, Matthew, through all the unimaginable trials and tribulations that he is going to face. Oh, the horror, the horror." He can't help but start to snicker as he ends.

Mark and Matthew trade puzzled looks, while Peter Davidson looks uncomfortably at his shoes. Mark shrugs, and the two turn back to Knightblade, Matthew darting a quick glance at the door through which Cassie disappeared.

"That bad, eh?" Matthew grins at his friend, "Well, they say suffering's good for the soul..." Mark returns a wry smile.

"Hmm, you may be right. I believe one did become a nun after being 'Cassiefied.' Isn't that true, Peter?" Knightblade asks the museum official. Peter nods apologetically.

Matthew's gaze returns to Knightblade and Peter. "The exhibit is absolutely stunning. The work you've both put into it really shows. Did you say that you led children through it?" He grins. "Now that is truly a task of superhuman effort."

Peter smiles at the praise. "I’ve been wanting to do this exhibit for ages," he explains. "But until recently, I couldn’t get the British Museum to part with a great deal of these pieces. And Cassie’s the one who contacted Knightblade. Involving a paranormal in the event was her stroke of genius. But thanks. It’s been in the works for years."

"Oh, we just had some of the kids from St. Vincent's Orphanage go through. There weren't any problems a little Windex couldn't cure." As Knightblade speaks, he fails to notice as two women simultaneously move towards him from different directions within the crowd.

"Excuse me... Knightblade?" The women say at the same time and look at each other rather startled.

Knightblade turns and sees Helena Amory, *Oh god, I did NOT want to run into her*, and a young lady in a pale blue dress. "Um, yes?" he says, slightly unsure of just who to address.

At his voice, the two ladies turn to face him and, with a rather odd expression that Knightblade can only interpret as awe, say once again in unison, "Could I get your autograph?"

Knightblade looks at the women in stunned silence for a second and then begins to laugh. "That was amazing! How long did it take you two to get that down so perfectly? Oh, nevermind. Of course, you can have an autograph. In fact..." Knightblade turns back to Peter Davidson, "Peter, didn't we have some photos left over from the exhibit? Perhaps these lovely ladies would like an autographed picture?"

While Peter goes in search of extra photos, Knightblade bows slightly to the women. Looking at the petite blond in the short clingy dress, he says, "Dr. Amory, I presume? I must say it is a pleasure to meet you. You come highly recommended from... others in my field."

Turning to the other lady, he asks, "And you, my dear, would be?"

The young lady in the blue dress, nervously brushes at her flyaway pale blond hair. "Um. I'm Jane Delaney, Knightblade. But all my firends call me 'Birdy'. It really is too nice of you to give me an autograph, I have a collection of photos and article about you from your first appearance." She seems a bit embarassed by this admission and quickly adds, "I work for Morgana Windrifter. You know, the paranormal activist? We keep files on all parahumans, I'm not a stalker or anything!" she blurts and then turns all red and looks down at her feet.

"Where are my manners?" Knightblade motions to the gentlemen beside him. "Ladies, this is Mark and Matthew."

"We left Luke and John at home," Mark quips, grinning at what is probably a standard joke. "I'm pleased to meet you both."

Matthew smiles at his friend and gives the two ladies a bow. "I'm Matthew Chu-Wun. I don't suppose you'd want my autograph..." His voice holds dry humor as he notes the awestruck looks the two ladies aim at Knightblade.

"Sure, Mr. Chu-Wun, do you have a photograph to sign or will my autograph book do?" she smiles shyly but there is a twinkle in her eye.

"Do you get to meet a lot of superheroes working for Ms Windrifter?" Matthew asks Birdy, "That sounds like an exciting job. I confess being a bit envious - tonight is the first time I've ever met a superhero." Matthew's voice is gentle, trying to draw the obviously nervous woman into the conversation and put her at ease.

"Yes we do. It is a lot of fun, but a lot of hard work, too. Do you like superheroes, Mr. Chu-Wun?"

She's as bad as Mark gets with Sarah. I've got to figure out a better way of handling these things. I wonder how they'd react to me. The last thought bubbles up unbidden from the depths of his mind, surprising him. Its been a while since this last happened. Stop that! he thinks back at the source, his remonstrating tone softened with amusement. Do you want people to think I'm crazy? There is no answer, which satisfies Matthew for the moment.

"Please, call me Matthew. I don't know many superheroes personally, so it would be difficult to say whether or not I like them. If you mean "do I like the _concept_ of superheroes"... well, that's another matter."

Mark rolls his eyes covertly. Birdy has managed to punch one of his friend's buttons, and may be in for more of an answer than she expected. There are some things that Matthew would be happy to talk about for hours on end.

Matthew's eyes get a bit unfocussed as he continues, almost as if he's experiencing a vivid memory. "It think it all comes down to responsability of power. We all have an obligation to use what power we have for the good of all, according to the measure that we have. Those with more must hold themselves to a higher standard, for their actions, whether true to the ethic or not, have a greater impact."

Matthew gestures at the exhibit. "Superheroes have a lot in common with the knights of past times. The awesome powers they wield come hand-in-hand with an awesome responsability to use that power for what is right. Indeed, superheroes are in a very real sense the modern knights.

"I guess it goes beyond "like" for me. Superheroes are... well... heroic. While still men and women they represent something larger than themselves." He grins, laughing good-naturedly at himself. "I hope I didn't drone on too long. Mark's always telling me I sound like a preacher on the subject."

"Wow," says Birdy, "do you really think so?" Without waiting for a reply Birdy grabs Matthew by the arm and starts to drag him away (she does not seem very strong, but she is determined). "You have to come and talk with Morgana," she says, "she'll get you giving speeches before you know it."

Professor Gardner, who is still wandering, "I perfer the defination of heroic as courage to survive over adversity. The more modern translation of heroic as use or non-use of impressive power, I feel, loses something in translation."

"Or, in other words, deciding not to use one's abilities to rob banks is simple compliance with society, not neccessary heroic." Professor Gardner reaches out to shake Knightblade's hand, "Professor Gardner, if you need help putting your organs back into your armor, you can page me." She offers her card to him.

Knightblade takes the offered card, nods, and turns his attention back to the conversation.

"That's a good point, for I left out quite a bit. We both touch upon only some of the heroic characteristics. Neither of the characteristics we mentioned can really stand by themselves, or even together- more is needed. Would you call someone who demostrates courage under adversity while knowingly exercising power in the cause of evil heroic? I would not. The three characteristics of action, courage, and higher cause are tainted in this case."

Mark sighs. "I don't think its as complicated as you make it out to be, Matthew." He turns to Birdy (busy trying to retreat with Matthew), "Well, I can say that I like superheroes, and..." jabbing a thumb at Matthew, "If I know him, he does too, but he'll take a thousand words telling you that." Mark turns to include Professor Gardner. "Professor? I'm Mark Burton, and this talkative guy is Matthew Chu-Wun." Matthew bows.

"I don't know what I'd do without you, Mark," Matthew smiles, turning back to the group.

"You've never had to sit through one of Prof. Hampton's lectures. Reducing volume to essentials is a learned skill."

Knightblade, who has been listening throughout, thinks back to his decision to first put on his armor. Realizing it was due to the same motivation that caused him as Tyler McBain to work with PRIMUS, he is forced to wonder and saddened to think that perhaps one choice will lead to the same outcome as the other.

Looking down and apparently just adding to the talks in progress, Knightblade says, "All I wanted to do was help people."

Lisa reflects upon her own life, she remembered when she first got her powers, all she wanted to do was just to have fun. She remembered the time that she flew into an REM concert just because she could. She had the best spot, floating twenty feet above them. In fact, she did a lot of things at fourteen that she would never do now. She envied Knightblade, he may not be able to remove his conscience, but he could always remove the armor. Even now, Lisa felt the strange tingling from not using her powers. Sometimes, it seemed she had no choice in her destiny, she could either use her powers constructly or those powers could discharge randomly like an overcharged capacitor.

Still, she wondered what made Knightblade give up his chance of a simple life and walk around in high-tech armor; was there vital life-support equipment cursing him to always wear the suit, or was he just some policeman who was tired of dodging bullets?

Morgana is quite enjoying her conversation with Carol Crawford, it is not often she gets to talk with people as well versed in current events as she is in a casual setting. Indeed their conversation has picked up a number of satellites, other guests circling and listening to the conversation.

However, their conversation is interrupted when a young woman in a blue dress, dragging a rather bemused man along behind her, calls out (not too loud), "Morgana, I have someone for you to meet."

Morgana turns to look and says to Carol, "That is my roommate and secretary Birdy, she is a bit excitable sometimes."

Morgana then steps forward and says with a smile to Birdy's companion, "Good evening, I am Morgana Windrifter, paranormal. It is a pleasure to meet you, any friend of Birdy's is a friend of mine."

Morgana extends her hand and a slight breeze buffets her, swirling her long black hair and causing her dress (by Vivain of London) to ripple as if alive.

Cassandra stalks into first closed room she can find, fury turning her entire body into one giant, tightly wound spring. That anger is probably what blinded her to the inappropriateness of the room she chose to vent her feelings to Tony. Picking the first closed exhibit hall, Cassandra had unwittingly walked in to the one that housed the temporary exhibit "The Eroticized Woman and Her Allure in American Art, 1865-1917." Not exactly the most conducive exhibit to conduct an argument in, but then the sole emergency light barely illuminates the room and the exhibit that occupies it.

"How, how, could you do that," Cassandra sputters, facing Tony, her hands on her hips. "A practical joke is one thing, but that was cruel. To suggest that your own wife could be bought for $5. It made me sound like , like..."

"Like what?" prompts Tony.

"Like a prostitute!" Cassandra practically yells.

"Oh really, Cassie , don't you think you are over-reacting?" Uncle Alex chimes in.

"Over-reacting?! If I were you Uncle, I wouldn't get involved in this right now since I'm pretty sure you're the one who put Tony up to at least part of this charade." Turning back toward Tony, Cassandra continues, "I don't know who you are any more. The man I married would never do something this cruel and hurtful."

"Who am I," Tony fires back. "I'm still the man you married. The man you promised to share his life with or have you forgotten that in your hurry to fulfill the duties of your newest 'job.'"

"What are you implying by that?" Cassandra says, forgetting for a moment that her uncle is in the room.

For his part, Uncle Alex has decided to take Cassie's advice and exercise some discression. He has no desire to get in the middle of an argument between his niece and her husband. I'd better give these two some privacy to discuss this, he thinks. But there is no way out of this room without climbing over them. Well, Alex pauses, this exhibit is actually quite interesting, Glancing at one painting, he cranes his head to one side. I wonder how the model .....

"You know exactly what I am saying," Tony yells.

"No I don't," Cassie replies with a touch of obstinancy. Hah! Blame me for your bad behavoir, she thinks.

Forgetting that Uncle Alex is still in the room - easy to do because the small figure of a man is now partly obscured on the other side of Gaugin's statue "The Kiss," - Tony blurts out, "I am saying that ever since you started moonlighting as a 'superhero' it seems like you don't have time to share your life with ordinary people, your husband included."

This really is an amazing picture, Alex thinks. The colors are so realistic. He is so absorbed in looking at it, he barely notices what Tony is saying until the word "superhero." Hearing that, the poor man is nearly floored by surprise. Instead, he merely gasps.

Alex's sudden exhalation of air, snags Tony's attention for a second, but then Cassandra draws him back into the argument.

"Tony, since when have I blocked you out of this. You've known about this from day one. Hell, you even chose that outfit."

"Gee Cassandra, I wonder why you didn't want to eat that Fettucini Alfredo I cooked three weeks ago. A nice dinner ended when you go runing off to the bathroom. To think, I thought you might be pregnant. Imagine my suprise when I learn from Ralph how well my wife did in facing those 100-foot long worms. 'Be proud her, my boy.' he says. What could I say - 'Gee Ralph, Cassie neglected to mention those. It must have slipped her mind?'"

Worms, 100-foot worms. My God, what is Cassandra getting into? Alex thinks as he inches closer to the couple while pretending to be enraptured by a large Georgia O'Keefe painting of a flower.

"I didn't tell you for exactly this reason, we'd be somewhere arguing about it. I didn't want you to worry. Obviously you saw what affect those worms had on Ralph. If I told you, you would have over-reacted and insisted on coming with me all the time."

"Would that be so bad? Or are you embarassed by your normal husband? Would you rather only be seen with men who can punch holes through walls like Knightblade or the Golden Avenger?" Tony snaps, his patience breaking and some of his own fears come to the surface.

"Or perhaps you'd rather spend your vacation time with them instead of walking the San Diego beaches with me? Let's see, what was the reason you stayed here instead of coming to San Diego last week for that builder's conference. Oh yes, 'I have too much work to do on the exhibit. There's just no way I could get away from it now.' You certainly seem to have plenty of time for Knightblade."

Cassandra gasps at Tony's words. Cut to the heart at what they suggest - that she would prefer the company of superheroes over her own husband. Shocked and slightly chastened, she remembers the eagerness at which she talked about her meeting with Golden Avenger and setting up the exhibit. She wasn't in love with the Golden Avenger, she didn't even have a childish crush on him. But she was perhaps prideful of the fact that she - a relatively unknown, unproven superhero of dubious power - got the chance to talk with him. She never thought about what Tony would think.

I guess I just assumed he'd be excited about it, she thinks to herself. And the exhibit - well the exhibit was my first major one at the museum. Peter was organizing it, but I did a lot of work.

Confusion preys on her mind at she looks at her husband through misty eyes. Why does this all have to be so hard, she thinks. Did Lois Lane and Superman have such problems?

Alex's mind is whirling with thoughts. Cassie - my niece- hanging around with the Golden Avenger and Knightblade. Fighting creatures with superheroes.

Suddenly his thoughts focus on a visit Cassie paid him almost a month ago....

"Here, this is for you," Cassie had said, thrusting a ribbon-bedecked picture frame toward Alex.

"What's this? My god, Cassie this is a picture of the Golden Avenger and Silver Avenger Chow! How did you get this? It's even autographed."

"They wanted to say thank you for the great food. You know, when they were at the museum and, um, earlier I shared some of my lunch with them. That leftover Kottopitta............"

Cassandra struggles not to cry as she stares up at Tony. Where did this all start to fall apart?

"Tony, I didn't tell you because I was afraid that you'd insist on coming and afraid that you might get hurt. I don't know what I would do if I lost you. I can't lose you. Knightblade the Golden Avenger - they are friends, acquaintances. Tony you're my heart. I don't know what I would do if something happened to you. Even worse - I don't know what I would do if you got hurt because of me. I lie awake at nights worrying that by doing this - this superheroing - I'm painting a target around you and Uncle Alex and our families."

"I'm afraid, Tony. It started out so easy. Put on a costume and go help people. Now -" Cassie pauses. "Look at that CNN reporter. VIPER killed her. And Tyler says they're after him too. What if someone comes after me and I'm not good enough? What if I can't keep you and Alex safe? "

"I just wanted you to be OK......." her voice trails off at that and she looks at Tony standing there in his ragged servant's outfit.

"I'm sorry, I can't...." Before she can finish the sentence Cassandra turns and rushes from the room, tears starting to trail down her face.

Tony calls after her, "Cassie, wait!" As he moves toward the door, he nearly trips over Alex, who has surreptiously made his way closer to the room's only exit.

"Alex, what are you doing?"

Clearing his throat, Alex turns toward a nearby picture. "Just admiring this painting." Glancing at it, Tony smiles slightly. "It's practically pitch black in here Alex. Have you developed x-ray vision?"

"No," Alex says witha sigh. "But apparently my niece has or at least some sort of powers. You'd better go after her, Tony. Cassie tends to act very foolishly when she is upset. I remember one time when she cut off all her hair because the boys at school always pulled it."

"I'm sorry I involved you in this Alex," Tony says, looking at his uncle-in-law. "I just thought showing up here in costume, the joke - well, I thought it would remind Cassie about how we met."

"Tony, look, if you don't catch up with her soon this whole evening is gone to waste. You don't have to explain it to me. At least not now. Just go find her. Meanwhile, I'm going to turn on the lights and get a better look at this exhibit. Fascinating pictures - really."

Barreling down hallway, Cassandra doesn't spare a glance at her surroundings. While she's practically running, she's not really sure where she is going. Definitely not back to Hearst Court, she thinks, tears coursing down her face. I just need to get someplace where I can breathe.

An hour ago, she was telling a little girl that boys are really OK. Well, that was a foolish piece of advice, she thinks. All men ever bring you is heartache.

In her frantic pace to get anywhere, but where she's currently is, Cassandra didn't see the other figure in dark clothing cutting through the 19th century landscape painting exhibit. However she certainly felt him, when she collided with the man midway between George Inness' "Waterfront" and William Morris Hunt's "The Hunt."

Shawn's ears perk up. "Aha!" he thinks, as he hears the sound of female footsteps approaching him. But the echoes in the emptiness fool him for a moment, so as he turns his head to the left, someone suddenly slams into him from the front. She cries out with surprise and grips his arm for support, which is easy since he instinctively wrapped it around her waist to catch her.

"Umph," Cassie gasped, getting the air slightly knocked out of her. She clutched on to the man's arm to keep her balance and avoid landing on the cold polished floor.

His arm wrapped firmly around her waist, he feels the heaving of her labored breathing, and the sound of her tear filled voice comes from very close to his face. For a split second she is someone else in his mind, but with a painful stab he shoves that illusion away and snaps back to the present.

"So sorry," she says, straining to compose herself and mask the tears. "I, ah, didn't see you there." She drops the hold she has on the man's sleeve.

Shawn recognizes Cassie's voice, even though he can't see very well in the shadowed room. Her distress is unmistakable, and from deep inside of him an instinct he can't override says he must protect her.

"Cassie?" he says softly, his deep voice carrying across the cold marble. "What's wrong?" He places his other hand on her shoulder and lets go of her waist, so the two of them are facing each other, barely able to see by the illumination of the exit signs. "It's me... Protector," he says, his need to ease Cassie's distress outpacing his concern for his secret identity by a very large factor.

God, when it rains it pours, Cassie thinks, her eyes searching the face in front of her, but finding it obscured in shadows. Of all the people to run into in the hallway I slam into Mr. Justice.

"Protector," she says in a surprise-tinged voice. "Do you make it a habit of prowling through museum corridors at night?"

"I'm sorry, that was rude, I just, just.." Cassie's voice trails off. Just what, Cassie? Her mind screams at her. Just don't know what to do with all this superheroing complicating your life? Just somehow screwed up everything and hurt those you love?

Cassie closes her eyes for a few second, trying to shut away all the pain of her last conversation with Tony. Opening her eyes, she swallows the lump in her throat and says, "Just a bad day."

"I can tell rubbish from rubies, Cassie, and that's definitely rubbish," he says gently, with an unseen comforting grin. "You want to find someplace we can talk? It's the least I can do after letting you knock your head against my bulletproof chest," he chuckles very softly. "Come on, let’s go to your office and get some coffee. I can't very well let you go wandering off. The next person you run over might not be invulnerable, right?"

A slight sigh escapes Cassanddra's lips along with a half-choked sound ofwhat appears to be laughter. "With my luck tonight, I'd run into one of those cultists leftover from last month," she says.

After thinking for moment, she adds. "I'd rather not go back to my officejust now." Tony could be there, she thinks, if he hasn't gotten so mad he's just left. Seeing him again right now, especially with Protector, would not be the best thing. "Have you ever seen the museum's 19th century furniture exhibit? I think it's a few rooms down."

A few minutes later the light flickers on and Cassandra and Protector are standing in a small room decorated in furniture that looks like it was left over from the filming of Scorcese's "Age of Innocence."

Cassandra glances over at Protector. She may be upset, but she can't help but feel a little curiosity as to what he looks like when he's not superheroing.

Cassie sits down on the edge of a convenient settee. Protector can tell that she's tense. Her body posture is stiff as a board and she looks uncomfortable to be there. While she talks, she spends a lot of time concentrating on her hands and hardly makes eye contact with Protector.

"I don't know why I'm telling you this," she says staring at her hands that are nervously twisting a piece on the skirt of her dress.

"I ah, well see," she stops and then suddenly blurts out, "Tony and I had a fight and I think he's jealous about the time I spend with superheroes and feels inadequate and I don't want him to come with me because I'm afraid he'll get hurt and I won't be able to protect him and now I wish I'd never done this because I'm hurting more people than I'm helping and my marriage is falling apart."

She pauses to catch her breath and choke back some more tears and then rushes in on another speech as if unloading all of her fears in one fail swoop, "I'm just really afraid I'm going to lose him - that someone will hurt him to get to me and I won't be able to protect him and in trying to protect him I'm just pushing him away and to top it all off he just embarrased me in front of a whole group of people and suggested that my honor was only worth $5 and Knightblade and everyone laughed."

"Oh," says Shawn, wondering if this was such a good idea after all. But he simply reaches out and stops her hand from twisting at her dress. Taking it firmly in his large hands, he sits down next to her on a fancy-looking wood piece of furniture highlighted with ugly, knob-like brass things shaped like fish. He begins to speak, but his normally deep, commanding voice, is closer, and gentler. He looks into her eyes the entire time.

"Cassie, it isn't easy to see the woman you love constantly place herself in mortal danger. If anything is responsible for his behavior it would be that. My fiance' and I had this fight a hundred times; she'd chase a horde of Nazis down a submarine hatch by herself or take on the Reich's top superpowered agents without waiting for the rest of us to get there. I got scared every single time it happened. I never, ever got used to it, and neither will Tony."

Cassie doesn't interrupt Protector as he talks, but her eyes soften. For a second her problems retreat back as she looks at the man in front of her and realizes that for all his bravado, the stern facade he shows to the world, Protector - defender of the innocent keeper of the flame of justice - has a soft soul that truly cares. He just doesn't understand a damn thing about women.

Shawn took a deep breath, "Cassie, is Tony more important to you than being a superhero?"

Snapped back from here reverie, Cassie quickly blurts out, "Yes."

"Then quit," he says gently. "Take that thing off and give it to Tony in a box with a big red bow on it, and invite him to come down to the bay with you and toss it in. If he chucks it, you end up with your loving husband and some fond memories that most people never get the chance to collect. If he gives it back, you end up with a career as a superhero and a husband who relishes your success because he's truly a part of it. He gave that dream to you - he knows it isn't more important to you than he is."

"If you really love him - then you win either way," he drops her hand and sits back. "God, Cassie, I'd take my vulnerable flesh back in a second for the chance to be with Roberta again. I'd give anything to be sitting at home with her in a little house in some New England town where the most serious crime anyone remembers is when the Principal's car got toilet-papered on Halloween two years back..." He clears his throat. "So, anyway... I guess that's what I have to offer."

Protector's voice dies down and Cassie pauses for a moment just looking at him. What happened in those gray mists of your past Protector that caused you barricade yourself inside that stern vistage so that it takes a crisis to bring forth anything from you? Cassie wonders.

Smiling a half smile, Cassie takes back Protector's hand - so strong but also so frail. "Protector, thank you. I know you're trying to help, but the problem is not just that Tony's afraid for me. You and Tony, you're a lot alike. You both want to be the rock. The person everyone relies on. It is OK for you to worry because you feel that it's your duty to be everyone's 'protector.' Tony wants to protect me you want to protect Roberta."

"e; But don't you see - the reason Roberta stormed those U-boats and fought the Riechmaster's team without waiting was because she was afraid for you. She didn't want anything or anyone to hurt you. Maybe - if she acted fast enough - you wouldn't be put in danger. It's the same fear I have for Tony."

"e; You see if something happens to Tony, it will only be my fault. I with my superpower wanderings will have been responsible for harming the one person in my life that I would have given up everything, that super-powered life included, to save. Ironic isn't it? Those we wish to protect with these new-found powers are the very people we endanger by using them."

Dropping Protector's hand she stands up and starts to abdsentmindedly polish one of the brass fish. " I'm afraid Protector - So afraid that I will be the cause of Tony's death."

He stands up again and takes a deep breath, filling his chest out and lifting his broad shoulders, which had begun to droop slightly at the end of his last remarks. The creases of his tuxedo snap back into line as he looks down at her and offers his right hand with a sincerely warm smile.

"I know this is your party, so you can cry if you want to, but I think you can find better things to do. How about it?"

Protector walks briskly forward, his footsteps sounding more hollow as he gets further from the noise of the room behind him. His eyes darting back and forth, "Elaine?" he says aloud reflexively, confused, and the sound echoes from the cold stone floor. He stands a moment, his hands on his hips, questioning himself. Did he really see her?

"Aw, shoot," he says to nobody.

"Excuse me, sir?" a voice comes from in front of him in the shadows. Looking up, Shawn sees a museum security guard walking slowly toward him.

"Good evening," he responds, realizing he's way outside the borders of the party.

"I'm afraid you can't be here."

"It’s all right," Shawn reaches back and pulls out his wallet, "FBI," he states as the flap folds down to reveal his identification.

"FBI?" the man questions calmly. "What's the trouble?"

"I guess I thought," Shawn says with a slight chuckle, looking down as he tucks his wallet away, "that I saw something suspicious..." his words trail off as he looks up to see the pistol in the guard's hand.

"That's too bad." *pthfft* *pthfft* *pthfft* *pthfft* The silenced rounds whack into Shawn's chest like stinging paintballs, flattening against his skin without really harming him, but they hurt like the devil.

"Ungh!" he says, and falls obediently to the floor.

PBEM Turns